Dying to Breathe
by dress her up in fairytales
Summary: Esme recalls life before her transformation. Rated T.
1. i

**Disclaimer:** Characters copyright Stephenie Meyer. Well, except the ones I made up, so I guess that doesn't count, does it? You know the drill, kiddos!

--

I like to believe that when I met him, everything was a dream – a very good dream, as a matter of fact. Something along the lines of he-swept-me-away-because-he-was-so-beautiful sort of thing and that we could float into the clouds, never to come home again. But where _can_ I start? Human memories are supposed to fade away with time yet I could never forget the first time I laid eyes on him. I was just a girl of sixteen who was desperately trying to rebel against my parents and everything they taught me.

I lived in the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio. I can't quite remember the exact spot. My father worked in Columbus, some corporate job I never understood. My mother – as much as I would like to consider her a "homemaker" – never was. Whenever my father was gone, she was usually gone as well: always with her friends, talking, gossiping about this or about that. I don't deny that they didn't love each other, for they did, and the only thing they argued about was me. Yes, I had friends; yes, I cared for my family, but wasn't there more? Shouldn't there be more than doing the same thing day after day? I wanted there to be.

I spent a great deal of my time – when not in school – outdoors. I loved open fields and wild flowers. I enjoyed hiking my skirt up high enough where I didn't feel trapped inside it. I often lay on the grass, careful not to get my skirt dirty or Mother would surely have a heart attack, watching the clouds go by, listening to the bird's songs, savoring the rush of wind.

"Esmeeeee!" the trill of Veronica's voice in my ear hurt.

I turned around, smacking her with my caramel-colored hair.

She brushed it away, sputtering. School just let out and we were walking home together as we often did. "Haven't you heard the news?"

I shrugged, but was silent.

Veronica hated this. She groaned. "C'mon! We'll have fun tonight, won't we?"

_Oh, Samantha's birthday party._ "I suppose so."

She smiled. "Yes, we will. I have already decided what I am going to wear. Have you?" She swung her lunch pail in her hand.

I nodded. "Yes, but I'm not sure I like it much anymore.

"Oh, Esme!"

I smiled. "I like yours though."

Veronica smiled. "I like _yours_. You can wear every color and still look beautiful."

I blushed. "Nonsense, Veronica."

"Ah, but it's true, Esme."

The road forked, and after a few parting words, Veronica and I split in opposite directions.

"I'll be there at seven o'clock sharp, Esme!"

I nodded, waving goodbye. "Yes, I know!"

Veronica's smile split from ear to ear as we finally turned our backs towards each other and continued walking. I looked up, attempting to shield the eyes from the sun. The sky was cloudy, a slight overcast. I switched my lunch pail to the other hand, careful not to drop the books I carried.

The walk home took no more than ten minutes. I sighed, taking in the house before I entered. Like almost every house, it was white with a front porch, displaying two windows on each side of the door. Sometimes I liked to sit with Mother and Father on the porch as Father drank whiskey and Mother sipped wine. It was idyllic, I had to admit, and it was home. I opened the gate and skipped onto each stepping stone until I reached the steps of the porch. I found Mother inside, sitting in the living area as Alexandra, our kitchen maid, prepared supper.

I kissed Mother on the cheek and she smiled. I liked her smile because it was like mine and because Father liked when I smiled.

"How was your day, sweetie?"

I shrugged. "Nothing interesting."

"Are you still attending Samantha's party?"

I nodded, taking a seat next to her.

"And Veronica is coming when?"

"She said around seven."

Mother kissed my nose, her breath smelled like cigars. "What about supper then?"

"Oh … Well, I think we are all having supper at Samantha's house." I glanced over at Alexandra, who was kneading dough.

"Did you hear, Alexandra? Esme will be gone, and it will just be William and I."

Alexandra nodded. She didn't speak much. I never knew why.

--

As soon as I had finished most of my school work, Mother allowed me to go outside until Father came home. I picked up a basket before going out, hoping to find a bounty of flowers to bring home. The clouds continued to cover the sun, much to my disappointment. I was careful not wander too far from the house, but I soon found myself enveloped in a field of wild flowers. I smiled.

From the field to flowers, I eventually found myself climbing up a tree. I managed to tie my skirt in a knot behind me so it wouldn't get in the way. My shoes weren't helping but without them, I didn't have any foot grip in simple stockings. I situated myself on a branch. I usually sat here until after dark, waiting for Father to come home. I could often see his silhouette as he walked towards the house, and I would watch as he and Mother embraced.

I stretched myself on the branch, clumsily standing up in order to reach a higher branch. I adjusted the knot in my skirt behind me, brushed my hair away from my face, and determined myself to reach the next branch. I thought I had my feet situated correctly, for I had climbed this very tree multiple times; I thought my hands gripped enough of the tree to make it, but I believe I overanalyzed everything.

A scream escaped my throat as I fell to the ground, landing on my leg awkwardly. I tried to stand up but yelped in pain. There was a tear in my stockings and blood seeped from a wound on my thigh. I groaned, trying to stand up again. Attempts were futile. Tears stung my eyes. I looked toward the direction of the sun, guessing that Father would be home in five minutes time. Surely, he would see me. I groaned again. _Father. _He would be angry at me for climbing the trees, perhaps angry at my mother for letting me. He said it wasn't "ladylike" to climb trees.

However, I was right. Father came five minutes later, asking me what I had done, telling me how atrocious it was for his own daughter to be climbing trees. He picked me up and carried me to the house, pushing the door open with his foot.

"Esme!" Mother shouted, shocked.

"Climbing trees, Catherine!" Father implied. "We have to take her into the city. Curse the doctor that is away!"

I sucked in the pain, which now felt as if it had spread to more than just my leg. We couldn't afford a car, so Father was reduced to using the horse and carriage to take me into Columbus. Mother came along, crying all the way, fretting over the tear in my stockings, the blood, and asking what on earth I had done with my skirt.

Fifteen minutes passed and we reached the small hospital. Father carried me into the hospital, demanding a doctor for his daughter who had just broken her leg and was bleeding. I flushed, embarrassed of my father, but then the pain overtook my leg again and I winced. _Ouch._

"Sir, I'm sorry, Dr. Wilkner is out of town—" a nurse began.

"Out of town?! But he's a doctor—" protested Father.

"William, I—" Mother interrupted.

"Excuse me?" a voice said from behind, musical and capricious.

Father turned around, his grip on me loosened, I was afraid he was going to drop me.

"If you'll follow me, we can get her into a bed, casted, and you can be out of here in a matter of minutes," the doctor continued.

Mother and Father looked at each other and then at me. I looked at the doctor. I had never seen anyone like him. He was … handsome. Or maybe beautiful was the right word? His blonde hair was sleeked back, his skin was extremely pale and his eyes were … different. I had never seen such a color.

The doctor led us to a room full of fifteen beds. Only three of the beds were occupied by sleeping patients. Father insisted I have the corner bed, nearest to the wall, and the doctor smoothly agreed. He placed me on the bed and I winced in pain.

The doctor introduced himself as Dr. Cullen. He asked what my name was.

"Esme," I replied, staring into his golden – really, they were – eyes, "Platt."

"Well, Esme, it appears you have a broken leg, but don't fret, we will have this fixed properly and in a matter of weeks, your leg will be as a good as new." He smiled, and I choked at his perfection. "Dare I ask how you broke your leg, Esme?"

I flushed. "Uh… I fell … from a tree."

The doctor chuckled. "I see."

I could see my mother smiling from behind Dr. Cullen as she gripped my father's arm. Dr. Cullen gave me a medication which I swallowed with ease. The pain eventually faded which allowed the doctor to work with ease. My leg was soon casted, my wound cleaned and bandaged, and we were leaving a few minutes later.

"Thank you, doctor," my mother said.

Father nodded, but didn't shake the doctor's hand. I noticed Father was half a head shorter than the doctor.

"It's what I love, Mr. and Mrs. Platt," Dr. Cullen replied, flashing his brilliant smile. He then turned to me. "No more climbing trees, Esme."

I smiled. "I'll try."

His laughter reminded me of birds singing.

--

**Author's note:** I gathered a vast majority of my information from the Twilight Lexicon (it won't let me put the website here so just Google Twilight Lexicon and it will give you the link) and the rest I just made up. Forgive me, it's been a ultra, super duper, forever long time since I've written a fanfic. So I accept cristism as long as it doesn't make my inner Esme weep. Of course, I like good reviews. And do, tell me if I should continue.

Also, I'm trying to get the historical time period right... Especially when it comes to doctors, broken limbs, marriage, and the different rights for men and women. I might need a little help on that so feel free to help and correct me.


	2. ii

**Disclaimer:** **All known characters copyright of the genius mind of Stephenie Meyer.**

--

"Esme, what happened!?" Veronica asked, exasperated.

"I fell from a tree," I replied.

My friend stared in disbelief. "_Today_ of _all_ days to fall from a tree, Esme."

I giggled. "I'm sorry."

Her lips pursed. "You're still coming to Samantha's party?"

"Yes, of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good," Veronica said, satisfied. "What did you get her?"

"Oh, you'll know when she opens it."

"Some antique thing again? Oh, Esme!"

"I happen to like those things, Veronica."

"All right, all right, I understand."

Veronica helped me walk out of my room. The dress I wore didn't look half as decent now that I was in a cast. I wore a white dress with a blue floral pattern with only one stocking and one shoe.

"I must admit, you have guts going to her party looking the way you do," Veronica said.

I hit her playfully.

We walked into the living area. Father was reading a book and Mother was knitting. The two stood up at the sight of Veronica and I. Mother smiled.

"Ah, Esme, always pretty," she said as her eyelashes fluttered.

Father's angry face had softened since we left the hospital. "Ready then?"

We nodded. "Yes, sir."

—

I managed to make the most of my situation the instant I stepped into Samantha's house. She was one of the few older friends I had. In her early twenties, she was married to an extremely handsome and amiable husband named Michael who worked in the city. We shed our coats at the door and slowly made our way into the living area where a group of girls were gathered around the fireplace amidst gifts of every shape and size.

"Esme!" girls' voices rang out. I caught the faces of Rachel, her blonde hair pulled behind her shoulders and her green eyes pensive; Elisabeth, black hair curled and pinned with black eyes to match; Amy, brown hair pin straight against her back and her blue eyes bright and cheery.

"What happened?" "How did you do that?" "My, that looks painful!" I answered question after the same question, assuring all the girls I was quite all right. Eventually, attention was turned back to Samantha, and she continued to open gift after gift.

When she came to mine, I felt my heart swell. I hoped she would enjoy it. I spent a good deal of time on it. She unwrapped in carefully, winked at me, and smiled when she saw it. "Esme!"

All the girls crowded around to see what it was. I spent as much as I could on the tea set, making sure I had the right paints and the right colors. It was an antique of my grandmother's, something I didn't have the heart to throw away so I restored it and gave it to a friend.

"It's beautiful, Esme," Samantha remarked. Her face glowed.

"Thank you," I said, blushing.

"Don't tell me you painted that?" Veronica whispered.

"I did."

"You'll outdo us all, Esme," she said, sarcastically, nudging me on the shoulder.

"Nonsense," I replied, putting my attention on Samantha.

—

Samantha and Michael stood together on their house porch, watching as each of the girls departed. Only the older women were allowed to stay behind, the rest of us had school. We were all envious of them. Father and Veronica helped me into the carriage, and I waited until Father sat next to the drive and we were moving until I told Veronica about Dr. Cullen.

"Dr. Wilkner wasn't there. Something about him being out of town," I said, waving a hand nonchalantly.

"Was he really beautiful?" she asked.

I chewed on these words. "More like handsome, and all words one would use to describe a good gentleman with … more than amiable features."

"Do you know his age?"

"Well, he was exceedingly young for a doctor, I think. Maybe no more than … mid-twenties? I didn't ask."

"When do you see him again?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think when I get this wretched cast off."

"Engage him in better conversation, Esme!"

"Pardon me, I was too busy gawking at him to notice or say much of anything, Veronica!"

We giggled.

The carriage soon stopped at the house. Father helped me out and ordered the drive to take Veronica home. We said goodbye and the carriage drove away.

—

Three weeks later, I went back to the hospital on Dr. Cullen's orders. My heart fluttered as I entered the hospital with Father, in desperate hope of seeing the doctor. I hardly took note of our walk to a room with five cots, none of which were occupied. I sat on one of the smaller cots, unable to stay still.

"Esme, please," Father remarked.

Much to my dismay, it wasn't Dr. Cullen who walked through the door, but rather Dr. Wilkner. His brown hair and beard were graying, but he wore a cheerful smile.

"Where's Dr. Cullen?" I asked.

"Dr. Cullen, why, he left almost a fortnight ago."

"_Where_?" I ignored my father's irritated look.

The doctor shrugged. "He wouldn't say, but I believe it was somewhere in the West."

My shoulders slumped. "Oh…"

The rest of the check-up went by dully and I left the hospital disappointed.

—

"He simply left?" Veronica asked, after school one week later.

I shrugged. "What's what Dr. Wilkner said. I'm sure he had a reason."

"Esme, do you—"

I shook my head. "No." I laughed. "He's a _doctor_ and most likely already married."

"Esme!" I heard the voice of Claire from behind. Veronica and I turned to see her coming toward us, her dark curls bouncing around her face. She walked with us. "How _is_ your leg?"

"It could be better," I replied.

"When do you get that hideous thing taken off?"

"A fortnight."

—

I never could forget Dr. Cullen's laugh. I couldn't forget his smile, the color of his skin, the complex color of his eyes, and mostly the way he simply _cared_. For the next six years, I watched as many of my friends married: Claire, Veronica, Rachel, Elisabeth, and Amy. I smiled at each birth of Samantha's three children, giving them gifts, playing with each of them. I was with Veronica as she birthed her first and only child, and I was with her husband as we laid her in the ground.

Life carried on, time went on, and I moved on. I had a growing love for children and longed to be a schoolteacher, to have a spot in childrens' lives, teaching them, and watching them learn. They brought constant smiles to my face.

"Esme?" It was my mother's voice. She knocked at my door.

I was buried in school papers, attempting to get through university despite the struggles.

"Supper's ready."

I nodded. "I'll be there."

"Esme… I ask you to come _now_. We have guests."

I had forgotten. "Oh, right, Mother. I apologize. Give me a few minutes and I'll be there."

Mother smiled and left.

I went over to the vanity in a feeble attempt to make myself look decent. I ran a brush through my hair and changed into a pale blue gown. I entered the kitchen to the sound of laughter. I recognized my parent's laughs but not the three others.

"Esme," my father said with a smile.

I smiled back. "Father, I'm sorry I'm late."

He shook his head. "Nonsense, child."

Child. I was twenty-one and he still thought me a child. _Father, please._

"Miss Platt, I presume?" asked the man to my father's left.

I smiled, nodding, taking in his features. His dark brown hair was parted to the side, had it not been sleeked back, I knew it would cover his hazel eyes. His skin was light and soft when he took my hand into his and kissed it.

"My son, Miss Platt," the older man to my father's right said. "Charles."

"Charmed," I said.

"My wife, Cynthia," the man continued. "And I'm John."

I kissed his wife on both cheeks as we exchanged greetings. I felt Charles's wandering eyes on me as my father invited us to sit down and begin eating.


	3. iii

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. You know the drill.

--

After supper, the men sat on the porch, drinking whiskey as my mother, Cynthia, and I sat in the living area. Mother and Cynthia were deep in conversation; their laughter resounded against the walls. My mind wandered to Charles and the way he didn't stop staring at me. I almost wish I felt a spark of feeling for him, but I didn't.

"Esme?" Mother interrupted my train of thought. "Come now."

I stood up, walking to the door behind Mother and Cynthia. We stepped out to the porch to the booming laughter of the men.

"Well," Father began, "it was good to have you here, John." They shook hands.

"Perhaps we'll have another engagement soon," Cynthia chimed in, nodding as her brown hair bobbed up and down.

My parents nodded in agreement. I smiled.

Charles stepped forward, took my hand, and kissed it. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Platt."

"Oh, uh…" I flushed. "You've been most kind. Thank you."

I stayed with my parents on the porch, watching as the Evensons left. I heard Mother sigh and Father pulled an arm around her. I left the two of them to be alone, walked back into the house, and directly to my room, burying myself in papers.

—

"Evenson?" Claire questioned, nonchalantly pushing the baby perambulator back and forth.

"Have you heard of him?" I asked, rummaging through a stack of school papers.

We were sitting together on a park bench. The sky was cloudy and the wind was cool, blowing a cold breeze from farther north. Leaves were beginning to change from green to orange, yellow, and red: reminders of autumn. I pulled my sweater tighter around me.

"Well, I _do_ know he is quite amiable… He has good prospects and he's _not_ married." A smile crept across her face.

"Claire, _honestly_!" I cried.

"I _am_ being honest, Esme. Besides, don't you think it's time you married and settled?"

I shrugged, sighing a little. "Perhaps … but I just want to be a school teacher. I want to leave here. I'm tired of things here, being here my whole life – it's not fulfilling."

"I always thought _you_ would be the first one to get married," Claire stated. "You have always been beautiful, Esme."

I groaned silently. She was beginning to sound like my mother. "Could we not talk about this, Claire?"

She shrugged. "I was just commenting…"

Three weeks had passed since the dinner with the Evensons. Since then, we dined with them thrice more, and they with us another two times. Charles was amiable, yes, but the desire to be married had not yet equaled my yearning to be a school teacher.

"Does he talk to you like he wants you?"

"_Claire_!"

She laughed. "I'm only asking. We are women, Esme, I can ask."

"And I can choose not to answer."

"Hm, you are too secretive."

We continued our walk until we reached Claire's house. We parted and I continued on home. I hurried to the house, putting my books and things on the porch. Just as I was about to depart again, Father opened the door.

"Esme, come, I need to speak with you." His voice was stern.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was doing home early as I followed him into the house then into his small office. Much to my surprise, I found Charles sitting comfortably. However, he immediately stood up, smiled at me, and left, shutting the door behind him.

"Father—"

"Esme, sit."

I obeyed. "Father, I was—"

"What are you doing with your life, Esme?" A blunt question.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Father, you know I wanted to be a school teacher," I stated. "I thought we already discussed this."

He waved his hand, nonchalantly.

"And I want to move west to teach…"

"You could stay here and teach in Columbus."

I shook my head. "Father, that's not what I want. Please, I want to go—"

"Your mother and I have been thinking… And with Charles coming here this afternoon, it seems our wishes have been granted.

"Wait, I—"

I couldn't even get two words out before my father interrupted again.

"Esme, I believe it would be best that you stay here. Your mother and I have discussed it several times and were hoping you would agree. I don't think it right for a young lady like you to move, completely alone, to be a school teacher."

Frustrated, I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. "What is Charles here for?"

"He's been asking about you" – _oh_ – "and I've given him my permission—" He was interrupted by the opening of the door. Mother walked in, a smile across her face.

"Esme, you're here! How grand!" she exclaimed. "Charles and I were just talking about you. He is most amiable, very agreeable, don't you think?"

I bit my lip. "I suppose but—"

"Honey, we would think it the entire world if you _really_ married him!"

I looked at both my parents. "Is that the reason I'm here?"

"As I said, Esme, I've already given him my permission to ask you and I am in high hopes that you will agree," Father said.

"But Father, what about what _I_ want?" I argued, standing up.

"I am not giving you permission to move, Esme! To be in the wild, trying to survive on your own!"

"But I'm not going to be 'in the wild,' Father!"

"Esme, this is the end of the discussion! You _will_ marry Charles. He _likes_ you, Esme. How many men have you turned down before? You are twenty-two now. Soon you will too old for anyone to marry and I will not see my daughter unmarried!"

His words stung like a slap in the face.

"Esme, dear," Mother began, her eyes pleading, "your father and I only want what's best for you… And seeing all your friends married, surely you wish to be too."

I blinked away oncoming tears. Saying nothing, I stood up and ran out the room, bumping into Charles in the process.

"Miss Platt—"

"Excuse me, Charles," I forced the words out in order to be amiable with him. I ran out of the house through the open field and fell to the ground.

Mother was right when she said I wished to be married. How envious I was as I watched my friends get married, as I played with their children, yet it was even truer when Father asked me how many men I had turned down. Yes, there had always been men who wanted me. Men who were amiable at the least; men with good jobs in the city; men who planned to stay in the city and never ever leave… But I preferred men to want me because they loved me, not for my beauty. I preferred men who wanted to move from the city, from the state of Ohio. I preferred those who had dreams of becoming someone more… I wanted to please my parents but I wanted to please myself. Charles Evenson was a nice man, five years my senior I learned, with a good job in the city. Surely he could take care of me and surely I could learn to love him. _Surely._ It was a feeble attempt to convince myself.

Yet my mind wandered. Looking up, I noticed a tree – the same tree I had fallen from and broken my leg. My hand brushed the place where the scar had long been faded. I closed my eyes, remembering the gentle face of the man who helped me. His face was scarred in my memory. I saw compassion in his topaz eyes as I watched him cast my leg and bandage the wound, his hands icy cold. _Dr. Cullen._ If I ever crossed paths with him again, surely his face was enough to remember. If only I knew his first name, if only… But that was five years ago, and he had moved to the west. Maybe he was the reason I wanted to move west… Maybe he was already married. But I brushed the thought away just as I brushed hair from my face.

"Miss Platt?" a voice from above said.

I opened my eyes. Charles Evenson was standing above me, blocking the sun. I sat up. "Charles, I—"

"Esme, I was rather hoping you would agree…" his voice trailed off. I saw softness in his hazel eyes.

We were silent. He took my hand into his and kissed it, but I pulled away instantly and stood up. "I'm agreeing for the sake of my parents, Charles, because I love them and want to see them happy." My words were cold but true. I had no feelings towards Charles.

"And your happiness, Miss Platt?"

"Is measured by the happiness of others, I like to believe. If they are happy, then I am happy."

"I am happy."

I glanced at him and sighed. There would be no end of this, I presumed.

"I will court you, if you like, before we actually get married," he continued. "After all, we hardly know each other…"

_Then _why_ are you asking me to marry you?_ my thoughts objected. Openly, I nodded. "For a few weeks."

This brought a smile to Charles's face. He stood up, leaving me alone under the tree. I watched his figure fade into a mere silhouette and then disappeared completely. I lay down again, covering my face with my hands, trying to stop the oncoming tears. Much to my dismay, I was soon interrupted again. I heard the grass rustle and a body sat next to me, but I ignored it.

"Esme." My mother.

I looked at her, not caring to sit up.

"Are you upset?" she asked.

"Mother, this is all … so sudden," my voice faltered.

"He likes you very much." She was trying to be reassuring. "You were doing nothing to further your prospects with marriage so your father and I decided for you."

I sighed.

"You don't hate us, do you?"

Incredulous, I stared at her. "I couldn't hate either of you, Mother." It was only half a lie. I could never hate my mother.

A smile spread on her face. The crow's feet around her eyes more defined than I remembered. "I respect and understand your dreams, Esme, but … you are twenty-two and soon you _will_ be too old for marriage."

Her words were a stake to my heart. "I'm not that old, Mother."

"Charles is a good man. He will take care of you. Surely, you see that."

I nodded but said nothing.

--

**Author's note:** Eventually, this is all going to go by rather quickly. Read and review? Thanks.


	4. iv

**Disclaimer:** All known characters are copyright Stephenie Meyer.

--

Within a mere month and a half, I married Charles Evenson. The wedding was small, consisting of family and close friends. I faced Charles, dressed in my mother's wedding gown, extremely nervous. Although he had courted me since our exchange in the field, my feelings for him were still ambiguous. I cared for him a great deal but I had yet to love him.

I watched rather than listened to Charles as he repeated the minister's words and I can vaguely remember my own voice, although I repeated the same words. My "I do" is a distant memory in my mind, perhaps more distant than Charles's. I forced a smile before we kissed, partially uniting us as one.

Like a good wife I now was, I looped my arm into his as we walked down the aisle to applause. I caught my mother's face. She wiped away tears with the pale yellow handkerchief, grinning from ear to ear. My father smiled at me, a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before. I looked at Charles who looked at me with a gentle smile across his face and I smiled back.

And so was the beginning of my less-than-happy life as Esme Evenson.

—

Five months into the marriage, I never regretted anything so much in my entire life. However, the first few weeks were rather pleasing. Charles's parents had practically given their house for the sake of Charles and me and moved into a smaller home. He would come home early from work often, catching me unprepared, kissing me on my lips, cheeks, and neck. I would make him dinner and sit in the living area with him, sketching, as he read a book from his father's – now his – library. He sipped whiskey and very often I would sip on wine.

We dreamed of having children but spoke little of the subject. I continued to go to school on days Charles worked. I confided in him my dreams of becoming a school teacher. He only tolerated my dreams rather than encouraged them.

Yet within a month, the sudden passion that had ignited between us died. We made love less often, but when we did, he was violent, hurting rather than pleasing me. Within three months, he came home late from work, after dark, and multiple times I ate dinner alone. Sometimes, I would awaken when I felt Charles crawl into bed and when I turned to face him, his back was towards me and he smelled strongly of liquor. I tasted it in his infrequent kisses in the mornings. At night when he would actually make it to bed with me, I attempted any sort of ploy to tempt him to touch me, to kiss me like he once did, but I failed in all attempts.

Within four months, any time I did anything wrong from not cooking his breakfast the "correct" way to whistling when I was cleaning he would rush over to me, grab my wrist, turn me around, and slap me. There was a time when I accidentally spilled water on a new pair of trousers; he pushed me into the kitchen cabinets which jabbed into my back, leaving a bruise. That was simply the beginning.

On one particular night, Charles staggered into bed and forced himself on me. His breath smelled of too much whiskey but he appeared to be fully aware of his actions. He covered my mouth with his hands as I protested. The next morning, I was afraid to get out of bed before Charles and I waited for the house door to slam shut before rising. When he came home that evening, he was vehement because I had not risen to prepare his breakfast or his lunch. He was not satisfied with dinner either. The next thing I knew, my head was meeting the table and I was bleeding from my lower lip.

The fifth month consisted of nothing but pain. If I got out of place one time, Charles would hit me. I tried the best I could to cover myself, to hide the bruises. The night he made my lip bleed, he never hit my face again, but rather always somewhere on my body he knew I would attempt to hide. On few extremely lucky days, I would have my friends over. Claire mostly came, bringing her two children. Seeing her happy face made me smile and made me want to persevere, remembering there could still be a small chance I could have children of my own.

I _ached_ – literally – to tell Claire what was happening but she was so happy that I was finally married that I didn't want to disappoint her with my sad news.

"Esme, when are you going to have children?" she blurted.

I glanced at her and then to her children, a baby girl and a toddler boy. I shrugged.

"You and Charles have talked about it, haven't you?"

Again, I shrugged. "We talk little of it."

"Oh, but Esme, you love children."

"We talked about it soon after we were married, but we don't talk about it anymore." _And I can't even imagine bringing a child into the world with Charles…_ My mind wanted to scream.

"Esme?"

I looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"You would tell me if something was … wrong?"

I bit my lip. My heart ached to tell Claire what had happened over the last few months. If she were Veronica, I would tell her straight away, I would have told her the first nights Charles began abusing me. But she was not Veronica at all, and Veronica would never come back to me. I kept my mouth shut. "I would," I lied. "I will," I corrected myself.

Claire smiled, satisfied with herself. "Good."

—

A month after my quiet afternoon with Claire, Charles and I spent the evening with my parents. Father and Charles spoke mostly of the war in Europe which I tried to avert my ears from listening. Charles said nothing to me throughout the evening. After dinner, Father and Charles disappeared into the library while Mother and I cleaned up.

"You should hire someone to do this, Esme," Mother commented.

"No, Mother, I'm content doing this myself." Really, I was. Charles would never consider hiring someone when I was perfectly capable of doing house work.

She began to protest but quieted herself. Instead, she began a new subject. "Are you all right, Esme?"

"Yes," I said quickly.

"Are you sure?"

I looked at her. I wasn't in the mood to argue. I said nothing.

"Esme, I love you, know that, please."

"I do, Mother, _you_ know that."

"And as your mother, I have a certain right to know about things."

Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air.

Mother caught my arms by the wrist and forced them to my sides and I winced at the pain. She looked at me, her dark brown eyes piercing. "I see what you aren't willing to say, Esme."

I flinched. "How?" I squeaked.

She ignored the question. "How long?"

My mind wandered to when the abuse first began. I shuddered at the thought. "A couple months ago…" I waved a hand in the air. "It's nothing, Mother."

"I don't want you to jeopardize this marriage, Esme."

"Me!?" I said, trying not to raise my voice. "You think all this is my fault!?"

"Well, Esme, I think you should keep this quiet."

"I _have_ been, Mother. You are the only one who knows now!"

She bit her lip, silent. For the first time, I noticed the gray in my mother's hair.

"Be good, dear. Be a good wife."

_As if I haven't been! _I choked internally, fighting back tears. Externally, I nodded.

"I plan to tell your father."

I couldn't stop her.

—

The Great War began officially in April of 1917. The United States was at war with Germany, and the government ordered a draft throughout the country weeks later. In a sick way, I was relieved when Charles was drafted. I enjoyed company with Claire and my other friends. All of our husbands had been drafted to go to war. Our houses seemed empty without each other's company.

Enviously, I watched as my girl friends played with their children. Claire with her two, Amy with her three, Rachel with her one, soon to be two, and a new close friend, Natalie with her two, one of which was Veronica's daughter. The fear of bringing a child into the world with Charlie was still one of the top things that prevented me from bringing things up. We didn't even make love the day before he left which didn't surprise me and for some reason, I was expecting to.

Each morning, the girls would run into town and get the newspaper. We would anticipate reading our husbands' names in the paper but were never disappointed. As we ate lunch, we would listen to the radio, expecting breaking news. Each day, the military sent soldiers to France, hoping to break through German lines. As much as war news depressed us, we were eager, longing for our husbands' returns.

At least, they were.

Although the house was lonely, especially at night, I was rejoiced mentally for Charles's absence. I did worry about him, and something in my heart longed for him to return home safely – hopefully, as a changed man.

Slowly, I finished school, still with high hopes of becoming a school teacher. These hopes mixed with the hopes of Charles being a changed man, and I eagerly thought of ways to persuade him to move west. Surely, he would want to after the war. Surely, there would be opportunity outside Ohio that would catch his attention.

For the next year and a half, I hoped – it was all I could do.

—

It was late night when I heard the door open and slam shut. I was in my room, changing into a nightgown. _Did I forget to lock the door?_ I thought to myself. Terrified, I ran over to the bedroom door and locked it. I searched for something to use as a weapon, in case it was a robber, but all I found was an empty flower vase.

The knock on the door made me jump and the voice behind it made my heart beat quicker.

"Esme?"

_Oh my! It's Charles!_ I wasn't sure if my heart was rejoicing or shrinking back in fear.

"Open the door, please," his voice yearned.

I set the vase back on the vanity, unlocked the door, and opened it. I was correct. It was Charles.

He hadn't shaved for days. His hair was tousled, shooting in all directions, and his hazel eyes were heavy with sleep. Nonetheless, a slight smile spread across his face at the sight of me.

"Esme," he whispered.

"Charles, I – er, what time is it?"

He shrugged. "Why does it matter? I'm home. With you. At last."

My heart skipped a few beats as he reached for me. He embraced me, kissing me, sparking a long forgotten passion. His unshaven face felt awkward against my skin. I tried to speak between kisses but couldn't. Were my hopes too much? Was I honestly ready for a change in Charles? For too long, I was told to be 'a good wife' and I kept my mouth shut to even my dear friends.

He picked me up and brought me to the bed, planting kisses everywhere my skin was exposed. A lump rose in my throat and I shivered. _Please, God, let this be different. Let this be okay. Let me be happy._

I did hope far too much.


	5. v

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, yeah, you know the drill. All character copyright Stephenie Meyer.

--

In all aspects, my mind tried to convince my heart that things would change – that Charles would be the husband I always wanted him to be and then I could finally be the wife I longed to be.

As 1919 drifted to 1920, the war was finally over. Husbands returned to their wives. My friends received their husbands with open arms. They were elated with pure joy and I, too, was elated for a few weeks' time. A few days after Charles's return, we spoke of having children. We dined with his parents and mine once a week until he returned to his old job in Columbus, and I was left to dread his return home, remembering years ago.

Then the abuse came back slowly. Small things I would do set Charles off into a rage, worse than ever. The war had changed him but not in the way I had hoped. He was more violent, and he shouted this time. His voice was so loud, I wanted to cover my ears, and when I attempted, he jerked my hands away from my face. It felt as if he were ripping the limb from my body. My body ached at night, from the previous bruises and from the new ones. Even so, Charles did not care.

When I was weary, aching much more than usual, he would force himself on me, trying to recreate the night he first came home. He whispered my name into my ear, harsh, almost like it pained him to say it. It pained me to hear him say it.

While Charles was at work, I planned in my head a way to escape. I couldn't tell anyone where I was going or when I was leaving. Such notions broke my heart. I would _have_ to leave everything behind – there was no other way to do it. I thought about where I would go. _To the west?_ Yes, like I always wanted.

I managed to get a hold of a cousin – a second cousin, actually – named Caroline who lived in Milwaukee. I told her nothing of the situation. I lied. Again, it pained me to do so. I told her that Charles died shortly after he came back from the war. I told her that staying in the home which Charles and I shared together was too much pain. In a sense, that part was not a lie. For the next two months, we wrote back and forth to each other. She arranged for my way from Columbus to Milwaukee.

It was decided I would take a car to the nearest train station in Columbus. From there, I would ride from train to train to the nearest city, taking a car only when necessary. When a train arrived in Milwaukee, I would take a car to the road her house was located, be dropped off, and walk from the road to her house. I wanted to be seen by as few people as I could. This sounded like a good plan, and I hoped it would work.

—

A fortnight before I was to leave, I had lunch with Claire in her home. I didn't have the stomach to eat anything, and no conversation we had sparked much interest.

"Esme! Goodness, what is _wrong_ with you?" Claire asked.

"I'm not feeling well, that's all." Well, almost all.

Claire cocked an eyebrow. "You haven't eaten anything. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

I hadn't been able to each much of anything the past three weeks. If I did, I would eventually throw it up later. "Claire," I looked at her, "can I ask you something? And can you be serious?"

She looked at me, incredulous. "Of course."

I breathed. "What did it … um, _feel_ like to be pregnant?"

A smile broke over her face. "Esme!" She eyed me. "Esme!"

"Claire! I just – oh, I was just asking!" But my cheeks were warm with embarrassment.

"Yet you wouldn't be asking unless there was a reason!"

I flushed. The thought of being with child had crossed my mind, but I pushed the thought away. My mind would always tell me I couldn't bring a child into the world with Charles. "It's just … I've never really felt like this and I thought it was nothing at first, but I…"

"You should go to a physician," Claire suggested.

"But don't you just … _know_? Claire, it's as if I just _know_ that I am with child. I don't want to go to the doctor only to be disappointed."

"But Esme, you might as well be with child! I'm sure!"

I crossed my eyes, wincing slightly at the pain. "You think? …" my voice trailed.

"If you are! Oh, Esme! Can I at least say 'at last'!?"

I smiled. "You can."

On the way home, I stopped at the hospital. Instantly, it brought back memories from years ago. His golden eyes, his pale skin, his gentle smile. But no, he left shortly after treating me. It would be a miracle if he walked through the door and I didn't want to hope.

A nurse at the front desk managed to squeeze me in if I waited for fifteen minutes. I sat in a cold, metal chair, nervously twiddling my thumbs. My mind couldn't help but wander to Dr. Cullen. I hadn't thought of the doctor in over eight years yet I could still remember everything about him. I felt my heart beat faster. I took a deep breath just as a different nurse walked over to me. She led me to a small room that held one cot and a sink.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," she said, and walked away.

A few minutes later, the doctor walked in. His hair was jet black and short. His eyes were a piercing blue. He wore a typical white doctor coat with a clipboard in hand. He smiled at me.

"Miss…"

"Evenson," I said.

"Ah, Miss Evenson. Pardon, but you aren't on the schedule, are you?"

I shook my head. "No, the nurse—"

"Squeezed you in?" he finished.

"Yes."

His smile widened. Suddenly, I wished I knew what his thoughts were. "How can I help you?" He pulled a chair next to the cot.

"Well, I'll be blunt, if you don't mind."

He shook his head.

"I think I might be with child and I just need to know if it's true."

"Ah… Would you rather have a nurse…?" his voice trailed off.

"If that's convenient…"

"I'll send one in."

A short, stocky nurse came in minutes later. Her blonde hair was pulled into a chignon. Her brown eyes were warm, matching her gentle smile. "The doctor bid me here."

"Yes, I would like to know if I'm really with child or if I'm imagining…"

"Ah, yes, well, I can manage that."

—

_I'll let Charles take care of that hospital bill, _I thought as I walked from the hospital elated. It was true. I was with child and I had been for almost seven weeks. It was a miracle the baby wasn't killed. (Again, I had to lie to the nurse when she asked about my bruises. I told her I ran into things and just bruised easily.) Although happy, I thought about my friends, my family, and mostly Charles. Would I be able to tell him? He would be angry when he found out about the hospital bill… The least I could do was tell my friends, especially Claire. She too would be joyous. I couldn't tell Charles. I doubted he was honestly ready for a child. And then another thought: _I should leave right away_. I wasn't sure if Caroline was ready for me to come. She wrote that she had to make room, but the more I thought about leaving, the more I craved it – craved it like a drug. I _needed_ to leave.

So it was decided. On the way home, I stopped by the bank to pick up some money. Charles would be furious once he found out, but at the moment, I didn't care. The thought of leaving him lifted me to the clouds. At home, I made dinner. Surprisingly, Charles came home at a decent hour. We ate in silence. Afterwards, he drifted to his library with a flask of Scotch.

Never again would I have to eat dinner in silence with a man I didn't love. Never again would I face his abusive hands. I would leave tomorrow, I decided, after Charles left for work.

As Charles was in his library, I floated quietly to the bedroom, removing the letters from Caroline from my vanity. Caroline suggested I bring only one bag. I removed a suitcase from the closet, stuffing the letters and a few pairs of clothes into the suitcase. I put the money in a small pocket in the suitcase. Then I tucked it back into place, hoping Charles wouldn't notice. He wouldn't, I was sure. He only walked into the closet to get his clothes.

I quickly changed into a nightgown. However, I lingered at my vanity, staring at my half-naked body in the looking glass, covered with purple and black bruises. I winced as I touched a few of them. My hands gravitated towards my stomach: _my_ child growing inside of me. I smiled. Yes, I would leave and the babe would grow in a good home, away from Charles, away from this home, away from Columbus. I pulled the nightgown on fully and decided to sleep. I wouldn't be able to read downstairs.

That night, I dreamt of Dr. Cullen and the baby.

—

I felt ill the next morning, but I didn't let that dampen my mood. I made Charles breakfast and lunch to take to work. I cleaned the house the best I could. It was around nine o'clock when I was sure Charles was in his work office. I flitted to the bedroom, taking the suitcase out and placing it on the bed. I opened it, going over my things again: clothes, Caroline's letters, and money. I took the money out and stuffed it in my dress.

My heart was beating quickly. I was actually _leaving_. For so long the thought crossed my mind but to believe I was actually doing it was a different thought completely.

In my heart, I felt bad for Charles. I never loved him. I _couldn't_ love him. I tried – really, I tried – but I couldn't. I married him for the sake of my parents' happiness, not my own. I wanted a man who loved me, who treated me like I should be treated, to look at me the way my girl friends' husbands looked at them.

But I could love the child. The child growing inside of me, although part Charles, I was determined to make it all of me. I set my hand on my stomach and smiled. _Yes_, I thought.

I decided to leave Charles a note. I wrote one word: goodbye.

I walked into his library and set it on his desk. I prayed it was the right thing to do. Walking into the kitchen, I picked up my sketchbook, deciding I might need it. When I reached the door, suitcase in hand, money in my dress, I turned and looked at the house for one last time. I sighed. I would miss the house but I was now stepping into a new, hopeful future.

A future that would never end.

--

**Author's note:** We're getting closer to Esme meeting Carlisle again. Very close, I promise. Reviews are highly appreciated. Also, if you all would be enough to let me know if Esme sounds OOC? Somethines, I think she does and that I'm adding too much of myself but I need feedback, please and thank you.


	6. vi

Wistful as it was to carry a suitcase in hand, I was helplessly nervous. I decided it was best to stop by Claire's home to tell her where I was going and what I was doing. I knocked on the door and the nanny answered. I stepped in, leaving the suitcase at the door.

"Esme?" Claire appeared from the kitchen, wearing an apron. The soft laughter of her children floated in my direction. She stared at me, incredulous. "_What_ are you _doing_?"

I swallowed. "I'm leaving, Claire."

"Leaving? But – what? Leaving, Esme? _Why_?"

I bit my lip as she walked over to me. "Claire, do you remember when you asked me if something was wrong?"

Her eyes lit up. "A baby?"

I nodded. "Yes, it's true."

"Oh, Esme!" She embraced me.

I fought back tears. I _had_ to tell her. "Claire, I can't bring a child into my home… I just can't. Not with Charles."

"But the babe is his?"

"Yes, of course."

She glanced at the suitcase then to me. "Esme, I…" her voice trailed.

"I'm leaving, Claire," I restated. "I'm leaving Columbus. I'm going west like I've always wanted."

"But why, Esme? Why are you leaving?"

"It's Charles… He… I…" my voice faltered. I took a deep breath before trying again. "It's my fault the way he is. I don't do things right, Claire. I do everything wrong. I've _tried_ – hopelessly, desperately – to do things right but I _can't_, Claire. There is no pleasing Charles."

"You're leaving because of Charles?"

"I'm leaving him. For good." I wasn't sure if Claire understood. Maybe if I showed her… "Claire, can we go some place private?"

"Yes, of course…" We drifted to her husband's study. Claire shut the door behind her.

Carefully, I pulled my dress off. I _had_ to show her. For so long, I'd kept this secret from Claire but now that I was leaving, I had to tell her. Some bruises were faded purple and some were a deep black. Yellow spots on my skin told of healing bruises.

My friend stared in disbelief. "Esme…" Her hand was at her mouth. "My God… How long, Esme? How long has this been happening? How long have you kept this from me?"

"Claire, I had to keep this from you. You were so happy that I was married; I couldn't bear to dampen your spirits. I didn't want you to be sad for me – I don't _want_ you to be sad right now. It was a mistake to marry Charles, Claire. I knew this when it first began but I couldn't convince myself the truth, but now I see the truth, and I can't deny it."

"Put your dress back on, Esme. I can't bear to look at you like that."

I complied.

"Esme… If you had told me… Perhaps there is something Jason can do…"

"No, Claire. I never want to get anyone involved – even you and your husband. You know I love you dearly. I need you to understand why I'm doing this. Please, Claire."

She looked at me, biting her lower lip.

"Don't tell anyone, please. Not even Charles or my parents know."

"What about the baby, Esme?"

"I'll raise the baby myself. I don't want the babe to know Charles."

She was pensive as I watched her. Finally, she sighed. "Go then, Esme. I know I can't stop you."

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

"You know right from wrong better than I do, Esme. I know it pains you to do leave, but I know you believe it is the right thing."

"I want it to be right, Claire."

She nodded. "Then so it is."

We walked out of Jason's study and to the door. I picked up the suitcase, fighting back tears.

"I will miss you dearly, Esme," she whispered, embracing me.

"I, too, will miss you. I will try to write to you," I said.

"I would like that."

I kissed both her cheeks, embraced her tightly and left.

—

It took two full days to reach Milwaukee. On the train rides, I would sit and sketch the scenery. I sketched what I wanted the baby to look like. I sketched the inside of the cars as I rode them. I sketched the hills of Wisconsin. Mostly, I sketched Dr. Cullen. How could it be that his face was still so vivid in my mind? The last I had seen him was over nine years ago. But I could still remember his perfect face. Thinking about him brought a flush to my face. _Nonsense, Esme_, I told myself, brushing the thoughts away.

As the car dropped me off at the end of road to Caroline's house, I pulled out a letter on which her address was written. With my suitcase in hand, I walked until I found her house along the rode. She was standing outside, hanging clothes on the clothes' line. Her house was blue and small with a white wrap around porch. Two windows were set on each side of the white door.

"Caroline?" I called.

Caroline looked up. Her black hair was pulled into a chignon with loose strands falling around her face. She was short and plump, very motherly looking. She looked to be in her late twenties. "Esme." She smiled when she said my name. A good sign.

"Hello," I said, not knowing what else to do.

"Well, come here, child. Don't just stand there." She motioned me over to her and I went to her side. We walked into her house. It smelled of bread. "Your room is this way. I wasn't expecting you for another fortnight so your room isn't as clean as I wish it to be."

"Oh, Caroline, that's fine. You don't know how grateful I am already," I said as she opened the door. The room was sparsely decorated. A small bed was in one corner, a vanity in another and a desk against the south wall. "It's beautiful, Caroline, really."

This made the woman smile. "I'm glad you like it. And I'm not expecting a cent from you."

"Oh but Caroline! I should—"

Her hand went up. "I won't have it, Esme. Come now, put your things down and I'll show you around."

Things were looking up already.

—

I lived with Caroline peacefully. She had been married but her husband died in the Great War. She had no children of her own but enjoyed the company of the neighbors' children. They came around often, knowing that Caroline always prepared a treat for them. She took care of her deceased husband's general store, one of the many in Milwaukee. She cared greatly for me. She was thrilled when I told her I was with child and she never asked about Charles.

I had been living with Caroline for three months when she came home with a letter in her hand.

"Caroline, what is it?"

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

I bit my lip. "Only one but she is a dear friend of mine and would never tell."

"It's a letter from your father."

"What!?" I was shocked. "How?"

"He doesn't tell who told him but he knows you're here, Esme."

"Oh, Caroline… I… What am I going to do?"

She thought for a moment, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Perhaps I should move again," I stated.

"I hope that won't be the case, Esme. I enjoy your company."

"And I am grateful for you, Caroline. I would love to stay with you but knowing Father, I know he will try to find me."

"You can't travel in your state, Esme."

My hand touched my bulging stomach. "I'll have to."

"Give me a few weeks' time, Esme. I can arrange for something."

"Are you sure—?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I have a friend who lives in Ashland, just northwest of here."

"But Caroline, I wouldn't want to oppose on your friend."

"Nonsense," she protested.

—

Three weeks, I traveled to Ashland to live with Linda, an older woman and long time friend of Caroline. Linda lived with her husband, George. Her two grown children moved to the West after the Great War and she was happy to have me as her guest. They lived on a small farm which her husband worked on daily. Whenever Linda was not teaching at the local schoolhouse, she would help her husband.

I lived in the upper room of the couple's home. Eventually, I taught at the schoolhouse with Linda, teaching children with ages ranging from five- to twelve-years old. The older ones, especially the girls, were excited at the babe growing inside of me. The girls fluttered around, playing with my hair, leaning their ears to my stomach.

All the children made me smile. It was a joy to be around them and the children made me more excited about having one of my own. Late nights, after dinner, I would sit with Linda has she knitted a baby blanket. George was usually outside in the shed, working on a bed for the baby. Linda and I went through names together. Linda was sure I was having a boy so we lingered mostly on boy names rather than girl names.

I liked Andrew, Alexander, Christian, and Nathan. Linda preferred James, Taylor, and Robert.

"You'll be a good mother, Esme. I can see that already," Linda commented one night. Already, I had been living with her for three months.

I flushed at her comment. My hand reached for my stomach like a reflex. "You believe so, Linda?"

"Believe? Honey, I _know_. I see it in the way you treat your students."

I smiled. "They are precious darlings."

She laughed. "Only you are able to see good in all things, Esme."

_Even when I have not been treated so, Linda. Even so._ "You are too kind, Linda."

She ran a free hand through my hair. "Your husband was extremely lucky to earn someone such as yourself, Esme."

I faked a smile. "Yes, he was."

"A shame he had to die…"

"Yes, well—"

"I'm sorry, Esme. I didn't mean to bring it up."

I shook my head. "No, Linda, it's all right. The more I talk about it, the less it hurts." This was true.

"Did he know, Esme…?"

I shook my head. "No. There was no time to tell him."

"He would be happy, yes?"

_Here I go, lying again._ "Yes, he would."

The rest of the evening was spent in silence. Linda continued to knit and I read a book. I walked upstairs, changed into a nightgown, and lay in bed.

Caroline, Linda and George, had been so kind to me. They provided for me in more ways than imaginable: with shelter, clothes, and food. Linda, too, had protested when I suggested I should pay her some form of rent. Finally, I was in the west, a school teacher – a real dream come true in a sense. But my mind wasn't settled. I had told so many lies to people I cared about. My parents, Charles, and all my friends but Claire think I disappeared. Caroline wrote to me, telling me my father had never come. She thought he was threatening me to come home, but to no avail.

For the first time, in the longest of times, I cried. How could I be so cruel to the people I loved? Charles had never been my idea of an ideal husband and he proved to be the worst of my nightmares.

Oh, how little I knew.


	7. vii

The next few weeks happened in a blur. Two weeks later, after the talk with Linda, I had a baby boy in my arms. Twenty-six years old and finally, after so long of yearning, so long of waiting and aching, I was a mother. But that did not last long.

For two days, I laid in bed, exhausted from labor. The doctor poured endless attention to my son, whom I decided to name Nathan. The doctor said he wasn't breathing right. He was red, wrinkly and so tiny. His watery gray eyes stared back at me, blinking. I wanted to hold him all the time, to have him close to my heart, rejoicing that he was mine, all mine, and I would hold much influence in his life. He fit perfectly in my arms. He would grow up to be my one and only love.

Four days after Nathan was born, I was able to feed him alone. His breathing was rough and unsettling in my stomach. The doctor came constantly to check on him. Linda said that her children had the same breathing problem but eventually, it went away. I hoped the same for my little Nathan.

Nevertheless, my hopes were shattered soon after. I laid Nathan down for a nap after the doctor came to check on him again. He had been sleeping for over three hours, and I was expecting him to wake up to be fed again. I liked to watch him sleep sometimes so I went upstairs into my room and lay in my bed. He was lying on his back, his small lips mouth opened in an 'o' shape. His hands were balled into fists and he was drooling from the left corner of his mouth but he wasn't breathing. His stomach wasn't moving up and down. I touched his face – it was still warm.

I picked him up carefully, putting my ear to his chest. His heart wasn't beating. From that moment, I was in hysterics. I laid Nathan down and ran downstairs, calling for Linda. She was in the kitchen and quickly ran back upstairs with me.

"Linda, he isn't breathing! I don't know what's going on!" I cried.

Linda picked Nathan up and repeated the same motions I did.

"The doctor—" I began.

"He might still be talking with George. Let me run down and check." She gave Nathan to me.

"Hurry, Linda, please!"

As she ran out, I put my ear to Nathan's chest again. His heart wasn't beating and he wasn't breathing, but his skin was still warm. I was frantic. I tried to breathe into Nathan, hoping, desperately hoping I could do something, anything to save my baby.

I heard the footsteps of the doctor, Linda, and possibly George. They ran into the room. I gave Nathan to the doctor, who set his medical bag on the bed. I was crying now. Tears streamed down my face in waves. _Please, save him!_ my thoughts ran wild.

Ten minutes later, my heart was in my stomach. The doctor was already shaking his head when he turned to me.

"Esme, I'm sorry. My suspicions were right."

"What suspicions!?" I shouted.

"A lung infection…"

I wasn't listening now. Of course. Why didn't I think of that? My mind whirled with all the possibilities and I was crying now worse than ever. I felt Linda's hand on my back and she embraced me.

_My_ baby. _My_ little Nathan. Dead.

—

Two days later, we buried baby Nathan. George managed to fashion a rough coffin. It was only Linda, George, and I at the funeral. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. There was no point. My baby was dead and I, too, felt dead.

Linda suggested I take the next few days off of work. I agreed. Was there any point to going to work? The children would only remind me of my Nathan. I needed to sort out the hospital bills. The doctor had been too generous to make so many house calls. Too many nights, I cried myself to sleep. I ached for Nathan. My body ached to be near him, to hold him. My arms felt empty now. My heart felt empty too. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep.

What was my life now? I left Charles over a year ago. And now, Nathan left me. Then I decided I, too, would leave the world. Linda had no need to be kind to me anymore. I had taken so much from people but never have I given back. Surely this was the right thing to do.

Four days after Nathan was buried, I cleaned the mess I had made during lunch. Linda was working at the schoolhouse and George was tending the animals. I made the bed and refolded all the clothes in the dresser and closet. I tidied my room before I headed out. My mind was set as I walked out of the house. I waved to George as his head turned from feeding the horses.

I wandered for an hour before finding myself atop a cliff. It was a good spot. I squinted as I looked over the edge: jagged rocks and rushing water would be my end. I sat on the soft grass, analyzing. _Yes, Esme_, my mind said. It urged me on and I was more than happy to oblige. I stood up, smoothing my magenta dress out. As if there was a point to look nice anymore.

Suddenly, the face I have never forgotten materialized in my head: Dr. Cullen. My mind drifted to when I fell from the tree, but this – my suicide – was much different. Dr. Cullen had left and already, ten years had passed. He would be married with children of his own. Why would he remember me? I was no one of significance, just a clumsy girl who had climbed too far up a tree. _Such a pleasant face to think about before I jump…_

I breathed deeply and jumped. My mind was blissfully away, hoping to join Nathan wherever he was.

—

I was sure I was in hell, burning for the act of sin I had just committed – a sad attempt at suicide by throwing myself off a cliff. I felt the flames of hell lick my whole body. But I deserved it, I knew. I took from people and could not give back. I left Charles, perhaps my first act of sin because I couldn't pretend to be the good wife. God had taken Nathan away from me – I was in hell and he was in heaven, a fair price.

I felt relief only a few times when the flames were replaced by ice. I felt the icy touch on my forehead, my neck, my arms, and my legs. I heard voices, too, vague in the background. Faces flashed in my mind: my parents, Veronica, Claire, Charles, Caroline, Linda and George, and Nathan. If I could cry in hell, I would.

"Esme," a voice said my name, soft and smooth yet filled with concern. Surely it was the voice of an angel.

Were there angels in hell? Perhaps the demon living inside me had finally become real. I always thought demons couldn't talk.

I couldn't open my eyes in hell. It took too much effort. I _wanted_ to open my eyes, to try to quench the excruciating fire in my throat. In a sense, I was afraid to open them: afraid to face hell, afraid for it to be a reality. I wanted the burning to stop. I wanted the icy touch back.

Flames licked away. I tried to smack them away with my hands to no avail. I tried to scream but I couldn't open my mouth. I would live in this hell for eternity. I would never see Nathan again. I wanted to cry but the burning pain was too much. I couldn't think of anything else.

Eventually, the pain subsided, leaving only a dry ache in my throat. I felt someone touch me, but it wasn't cold like before. Surely the demon was making sure I was dead. At last, my eyes opened. Everything was clear, extremely clear. I could see the silver moonlight streaming through the window. I could see the dust particles that reflected off the moonlight. I wiped my eyes with my hands. Pausing, I looked at my hands. They were a different color. I looked at my legs and they too were a different color: pale almost silver like the moonlight. _What?_ Surely hell wasn't like this.

My eyes wandered to my surroundings. I was in a fairly large room, completely alone. I was lying in a soft bed. A vanity was in the corner and on top was a looking glass. From the bed, I could see the texture of vanity's wood. I could see the creases in the carpet, the places where someone stepped. This place could not possibly be hell. It looked like someone's home and the devil couldn't possibly live in such a home.

Amazingly, my ears caught the voices coming from below. I heard them as if they were sitting right next to me. The two male voices were arguing.

"Carlisle, I don't understand _why_—" the first voice said, youthful and smooth.

"I couldn't let her die, Edward," the second – Carlisle – said. I sensed yearning and compassion in his familiar voice, like the voice I heard in hell, amidst the burning. "Surely you can understand that."

Then the pair was quiet. I heard someone rush up the stairs. I covered myself with the bed blanket. I held my breath as the door opened.

If my heart had been beating, it would have stopped. The man who stood at the door held the face of the one I have never forgotten, even after ten years. It matched his – same pale skin, same golden eyes, and the smile. This demon was no demon, but an angel – my angel. Surely, with him here, I could not be in hell.

He ran a hand through his golden blonde hair. He wore a pair of tan trousers and a navy blue sweater. He hesitated at the door. My name came out of his mouth liked it had always belonged there. "Esme."

I said nothing. I could only stare. _His name is Carlisle_, my mind told me.

Carlisle flitted to my side in half a second. I leaned back. My angel was too beautiful. I couldn't look at him. My eyes averted to my hands. They, too, were a different texture than before. A hesitant smile crept across Carlisle's face, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth.

The boy, Edward, was standing at the door. How old was he? He was angry, his faint amber eyes pensive under his eyebrows. His bronze hair was tousled. He pressed his lips together as he watched me. He glanced at Carlisle.

"You're an angel to her, Carlisle," the boy said. He looked at me then back to Carlisle. He was then out the door in a millisecond. I heard him below. I heard the door open then slam shut.

I expected to feel a blushing sensation in my cheeks but there was no warmth. The warmth I expected in my cheeks reminded me of the burning in my throat. Although the flames had left the other parts of my body, it stayed constantly in my throat.

"I don't understand…" I said. I didn't recognize my voice. It was … musical, whimsical, and light. My hand went to my throat.

"Perhaps," Carlisle said, "it would be better if we attempted to quench your thirst first." His voice was much like I remembered.

_What? With water?_ I didn't understand.

"Will you come, Esme?"

I agreed, all too willing. I followed him down the stairs and out into the night. We were not in town at all. Instead, this house was planted on the outskirts of the city. I heard the cars of the city miles and miles away. My eyes quickly adjusted to the night. I looked up to see the clouds covering the moon. My throat was aching.

Then the smell hit my nose and I heard the beating of a heart, flowing fresh with blood. My mouth was wet in a mere second. _Where? Where is it?_ I looked at Carlisle.

"It's due north, Esme. Perhaps seven or eight miles." He smelled it too.

"I _need_ it, Carlisle," I said slowly, still not used to the sound of my voice.

He nodded. He took my hand, and we ran.

It felt as if we were flying. My caramel hair flowed past me and I felt Carlisle's grip on my hand tighten. I had to find the thing with the beating heart, I heard it, and we were getting closer. We stopped four seconds later and I saw them: black bears. There were two of them. Their beating hearts pulsed loudly in my ears. I looked at Carlisle and he nodded.

I lunged for them. I felt like a savage. I snapped the female's neck in half and then the male's. I sunk my teeth into the female's neck. The warmth of the blood flowed into my mouth, barely quenching the burn in my throat. I ached for more. As soon as the female was dry, I moved quickly to the male. The process took a mere fifteen seconds. My throat still ached. I turned my head, looking for Carlisle.

He was behind me in half a second. His hand found mine again. I looked into his topaz eyes, trying to understand. He read my eyes. "I shall explain later. You must still be thirsty."

In truth, I was, but with Carlisle next to me, my longing for him almost outweighed my longing for more blood. We found another bear three miles east and a herd of deer four miles northwest. I drank until I was satisfied and he, too, drank.

We stayed in the forest. I lay on the grass and stared at the stars. What had I become? I was a monster, a savage – this I knew. Carlisle sat next to me, watching me, never letting go of my hand. I let my eyes wander over to him and our eyes met. I sat up.

"I thought…" I began, unsure where to even begin. "I thought I would _never_ see you again. You of all people, Carlisle." I liked saying his name.

He smiled. "I couldn't leave you, Esme."

I bit my lip. "But what happened? I only remember jumping and…"

He squeezed my hand and sighed. "You want to know?"

I nodded.

He spoke quickly but I caught every word. "I was working at the late shift hospital when they brought you in. They had people looking for you for hours. Your body was in an awkward position but fortunately, somehow, you hadn't broken anything. There were only scraps and bruises." I flinched at the word. "They thought you were dead but I heard otherwise – I heard your heart still beating. It was faint but you were still alive. I brought you home with me and I changed you."

"You remember who I am?" I questioned.

To this, he smiled. "How could I forget?"

But there was no answer to his question.


	8. viii

As soon as the sun began to rise, we ran back to the house. It was empty.

"Where's Edward?" I asked.

Carlisle shrugged. "He'll be back."

"Is this your home?"

He nodded. I could still see the sun's reflection from his golden locks.

I walked up the stairs and back into the room. The door was open and the blanket was askew. I heard Carlisle come up the stairs. He stood at the door, watching me. I walked to the vanity and stared into the looking glass. I sucked in air.

I had been told that I was pretty and less often beautiful, but as I looked into the mirror I couldn't help myself. My skin was the color of the moon. I could no longer see the bruises – the bruises that had longed fatigued me and scarred my body. Blood from the hunting trip spotted the dress I wore. On my heart-shaped face was a pair of bright, crimson eyes. I frowned. I missed the old color.

Carlisle was at my side in half a second. He sensed my discomfort. I looked at him. His eyes were a bright butterscotch color. I wanted to touch his face but I didn't. I ran my hands through my caramel hair instead.

"When?" I asked.

"After a year, they will turn amber and then eventually, turn golden. Usually, it takes two weeks for the color to change to black – it means we're thirsty, but with you here, we'll need to hunt more often."

I bit my lip. Would I be a monster forever?

"What's wrong?"

I looked back at the mirror. Carlisle looked the same as he did ten years ago. We shared the same complexion. I didn't want to be a monster; I wanted my eyes to be like his.

"I want to know more, Carlisle," I said. "Please, tell me."

He sighed. I moved over to the bed and sat down, watching him, waiting. He sat next to me.

"If I tell you more, will you tell me how you managed to jump off a cliff?"

I hesitated, biting my lip. I nodded. "Yes."

"I want to be blunt with you, Esme. Don't say anything until I'm finished."

I nodded again.

"I am a vampire … as is Edward. And you – now – are one too…"

I listened to his story. My dead heart ached for him. He was born sometime in the 1640s. His father was a pastor, who persecuted witches, werewolves, and vampires. As his father aged, he eventually took his father's place. He discovered a coven of true vampires and set traps. He caught one but the vampire didn't run. "Perhaps he was too thirsty," Carlisle said. In turn, the vampire attacked him. He had been frozen in his twenty-three year old perfection for over three hundred years.

In the beginning, he hated what he had become but he eventually overcame his thirst in a more humane way by drinking animal blood instead of killing humans for theirs. Almost three centuries later, working as medical doctor, he was immune to human blood. He changed Edward in 1918 during the Spanish influenza epidemic in Chicago. I was the second person he changed.

"I thought maybe could atone for the sin I was by saving human life. I was compelled to save Edward and when I saw you in the hospital … Your heart was still beating. How could they think you were dead?" He traced my jaw line. "Beautiful…" Then he quickly pulled away, tucking his hand by his side. "But I remembered you and I knew what I had to do."

"You were working in the hospital all that time?"

He nodded.

"Does that mean you heard about…?" I couldn't bring myself to say it. My beautiful baby boy's face came to my head and I choked.

Carlisle nodded.

Then I nodded in sore agreement.

"And you, dear Esme? What could have possibly led you to jump from a cliff?" His voice was yearning as he changed the subject.

I told him in a voice too low for human ears but Carlisle caught every word. I pulled the faint memories from my mind. I told him of the time at the hospital when I broke my leg, seeing him for the first time. I told him how my parents wanted me to marry Charles Evenson, and how Charles abused me. I had to search inside my head; the only vivid memories were the pain of the transformation, and the constant burn in my throat…

"Every day, Carlisle. It was endless pain. Just as bruises began to heal, new ones would appear. He was drafted into the war and I was relieved when he went away. Relieved! My own husband could have possibly died and I was relieved. I was disgusted with myself. But he came back, and things never changed. I made plans to run away: to go west and become a school teacher like I always wanted.

"And then I found out I was with child. But I couldn't bring a child into my home – not with Charles. So I decided then I had to leave. There was no other option. I lived in Milwaukee for a few months until my father found out where I was. Then I moved to Ashland to live with a couple. I worked as a school teacher there. I pretended Charles died during the war or that he had died shortly afterwards. And then I had baby Nathan."

I paused, choking. As a vampire, I couldn't cry, but it felt like I couldn't breathe. If I was human, I would be crying. "He was so tiny, Carlisle. Red and wrinkly with watery gray eyes. He was _beautiful_ and he was mine. But he died a few days later… A lung infection, the doctor said. I put all my hopes and dreams into little Nathan. I would be a good mother, maybe remarry, but no. There was nothing left for me, Carlisle. A few days after we buried him, I jumped."

"Suicide, Esme?"

It was a harsh word but I nodded. "Yes."

His hand stroked my face but he said nothing.

"Please, don't pity me, Carlisle. When I awoke from the flames of hell to see you, I knew things were all right. You are here now."

He chuckled. "I'm here now _and_ forever, Esme."

I smiled weakly. It was true but my dead heart ached for my dead baby.

Slowly, he turned my head to meet his golden eyes. His face inched closer and closer to mine until our lips met. His lips were soft just like I had imagined and the way he smelled made me feel like liquid. He kissed my nose, my cheeks, and then my lips again. The thoughts of Nathan quickly disappeared. His hands moved to my hair, running his fingers through it, then to my neck. My throat itched violently and even amidst Carlisle's sweet lips on mine, I couldn't ignore the burn.

I pulled away. "Carlisle?"

"Yes?"

"We should go hunting again."

—

It was aggravating, in a sense, to go hunting with Carlisle around. Although I wanted to be with him constantly, I wanted his hands in mine always; I wanted to taste his breath again; I wanted to feel his lips on mine. He was my drug. Nevertheless, hunting was inevitable. Carlisle was more civil than I. I told him I felt like a monster. He said it was because I was a newborn. I would be able to control my senses over time.

I followed the scent of another black bear and a pair of elk. The elk were less pleasing than the bear but I didn't object. The trees shaded our hunting area but sometimes, sun would seep through the tree leaves. After I had finished off a male elk, I turned to Carlisle to see him leaning against a tree in the shade. A portion of his hand gleamed in the sunlight. Astonished, I walked over to him.

He laughed. "The sun, Esme. It makes our skin glitter, in a sense."

"We can't go out during the day?"

"We can, yes, but not when the sun is out."

"Oh," I said. I loved the sun when I was human.

He kissed me, washing away my disappointment. "We shall manage."

"Do you have to go to work today?"

He shook his head. "If the weather permits, I plan to go into town."

"Can I—?"

Again, he shook his head. "It's too dangerous for you, Esme, to be around humans."

My shoulders slumped. "But—"

He pressed a soft finger to my lips. "Surely you can find something to do whilst I'm away."

I pursed my lips. _Away from you?_ The thought was just as painful as the burn in my throat. A chuckle reverberated in Carlisle's throat.

"I'll leave now, Esme. The sooner, the better, hm?" He cupped his hands around my face and kissed me. How easy it was for him to make my dead heart feel as if it were beating again.

We took time as we raced back to the house. Clouds hid the sun by the time we walked through the door. Edward was sitting on a couch in the living area with a book open. He looked up the instant we walked in.

"Edward," Carlisle said.

_He's so young_, I thought.

"I apologize, Carlisle, for leaving earlier. It was selfish and rude."

Carlisle shook his head. "No, Edward. I know you have your reasons."

His amber eyes flickered to me and back to Carlisle. Although nothing was spoken I saw Carlisle nod his head with a grin across his face. Was I missing something?

"Esme," Carlisle cleared his throat. "I never had the chance to introduce you to Edward properly." He gestured toward Edward.

I smiled. Watching Edward, I depicted curiosity across his face. He walked to me, kissing both my cheeks with a smile. Again, if I could blush, it would have been at that moment.

"Edward, would you mind showing Esme around the house? I'm departing for the city in a few moments. I need to purchase some essentials," Carlisle informed.

Edward nodded, running a hand through his bronze hair. He then picked up his book and disappeared into another room.

I looked at Carlisle. "Is he upset?"

"No. Edward … is his own in many aspects, but he respects me and I can hardly ask for even that."

We spoke for a brief second before Edward reappeared. Carlisle glanced at Edward and smiled. "I'll be back as quick as I can." He kissed me again and hurried out the door.

I missed him already. How long would he be gone?

"He'll be back quicker than you think, Esme," Edward said. "Come now, I'll show you around."

I followed Edward throughout the house. It was bigger than I had anticipated, and already I could point out spots that needed retouching. The first floor consisted of Carlisle's office, the library, a living area with a fireplace, a kitchen, and a dining area. The table was decorated sparsely with pieces of china. The second floor consisted of two bathrooms, and three bedrooms. Edward's bedroom was across the hall from Carlisle's, both on the east side. A bathroom was across from Carlisle's room. The room I briefly stayed in was on the west wall with a bathroom of its own.

Beds, a dining table, the kitchen, and more were all props. Edward and Carlisle were playing pretend and I had to join in. _Pretend._ I had already faked so much with Charles, lying to my friends, but all that seemed distant. Things were different with Carlisle from the beginning.

The walls of the house were painted vanilla crème. Light mahogany wood decorated most of the house, making up much of the shelves, tables, desks, and chairs. I made a mental note to ask Carlisle if he could perhaps purchase a dark cherry wood instead. I also made a note to ask him if he ever had visitors, but my mental thought was soon answered.

"Rarely," Edward remarked. "Very often, Carlisle brings his colleagues from the hospital to view his library but other than those times, visitors are few."

_Ah._ "Is there anything else I should know, Edward?"

Edward pondered for a fourth of a second then shook his head. "I'm sure you would rather ask Carlisle."

"But if there's anything you want to say, I'm listening," I urged, ignoring the need to soothe the pain in my throat.

He sighed. "I'm not stopping you from hunting, Esme."

Hunting and the inevitable burn in my throat seemed to be my constant companions, but I didn't want to go. As much as I wanted to attempt to douse the raging fire in my throat, I wanted to wait for Carlisle. I wanted him to come with me.

"Carlisle will be home in two minutes," Edward said, answering another mental thought.

"Thank you, Edward," I said with a smile.

"It's nothing."

There was silence for two seconds before I drifted back upstairs. I decided to be daring and enter Carlisle's room. The first thing I noticed about the room was the smell. His scent reminded me of rain, of irises growing during spring, of sugary sweet candy. It was weird, thinking of the smell of someone. The last person I remember smelling with such clarity was Charles. Even with my new mind and senses, his smell reached beyond the pain of the transformation.

I still wasn't used to my senses: the clarity of my vision, the ability to run faster than anyone I'd ever grown up with, the gracefulness with which I moved, the texture of my skin, and the color of my eyes … The list seemed endless.

I ran my fingers over the royal blue blanket on Carlisle's bed. A mahogany dresser was in the corner, decorated sparsely with antiques from through the years. His closet was full of clothes, spanning many decades. I ran my fingers over a jade green sweater, breathing in his scent. The burning sensation in my throat rose again every time I breathed.

Then I felt the tension in the air change. I turned around to face Carlisle. He flashed a smile.

"Curious, Esme?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"Yes, I am."

His smile changed to a frown. His eyebrows furrowed. "What's the matter?"

"I wish the pain would go away, Carlisle," I confessed. "I can't bear the constant agony in my throat."

He sighed softly, breathing his amazing scent in my direction. "If I could take away such pain, Esme, I would. Unfortunately, it is a part of who we are and we can only appease the thirst rather than quench it completely."

I sighed too.

------

**Author's note: **Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and favoring my story. It makes me smile.


	9. ix

"Edward said you enjoyed the house," Carlisle stated, changing the subject.

I smiled. "Yes, I did."

"He also mentioned some changes you wish to make."

I smirked. "Only a few things."

"Ah, which reminds me." He disappeared for a sixteenth of a second and reappeared carrying a handful of bags. "I was not sure what you would like…"

I laughed. "Carlisle." Even after saying his name again and again, I couldn't get used to it.

Together, we rummaged through each bag. I pulled out dress after dress, color after color and fabric after fabric. The scent of each store mingled with Carlisle's scent. Eventually, I settled for a soft violet dress with lace at the sleeves and beads around the collar – definitely something I would have never thought about wearing around Charles.

I looked at Carlisle who had been watching me the entire time. The agony in my throat made it hard to focus. _Should I ask to go hunting again? _I'd already gone twice and it hadn't been one full day yet. I heard Edward make his way up the stairs and into the room. I didn't look at him but Carlisle turned his head.

"You don't _need_ to ask, Esme," Edward stated.

Carlisle looked at me. "Ah." He stood up and went to Edward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

Edward shrugged. "She doesn't _want_ to tell you, Carlisle – that's the problem."

Carlisle looked back at me with a crinkle in his eyebrows. "Esme," he said softly, "you _need_ to tell me."

I swallowed – a sad attempt to dissipate the burn – and looked up. Edward had disappeared. The pain in my throat was too great that I didn't hear him leave. "Carlisle…"

He walked over to me and took my hand.

We were out of the house in two seconds' time, running somewhere, anywhere. We stopped ten miles from the house. He paused, letting go of my hand. I wanted to reach for his but I stopped. Was he angry? Was he hurt because I didn't tell him? Again, something I didn't understand.

"Esme, I know it bothers you but I don't want you to _not_ tell me when you're thirsty. It's vital for you to tell me."

I breathed in but smelled nothing, agitating the burn even more. "I'm sorry. I'm still taken aback by everything and it's awkward and…" my voice trailed off.

He was silent for a full minute, his back towards me. I swallowed air, repeatedly, begging the pain to disappear. And then I smelled it.

Him? Her? It didn't matter. Ten, fifteen, thirty miles away? It didn't matter. My throat was screaming to be pleased, to be satiated, and this human would do it.

My eyes flitted in all directions. _Where? Where? Where? _my mind was screaming. My mouth was watering as venom coursed through my entire body. A snarl ripped from my throat.

"No," I heard my angel's voice through the discord.

"_Carlisle_," I pleaded, tense. "I need this."

"You want it, Esme. You don't need it."

But the fire in my throat said otherwise. The monster was screaming to be fed properly. Although the strength to object Carlisle and find the human outweighed the strength it took to simply _stay_, I couldn't upset him. I turned in a sixteenth of a second only to be slammed against a tree. It fell to the ground with a loud crack.

Carlisle had me pinned to the ground, holding my arms to my side. "Esme!" he hissed.

Then I realized I was crying silent, tearless, choking sobs. Yet amidst the tears, I was thrashing. Seconds later, Edward appeared and he too held me pinned to the ground.

"You can't have her," Carlisle began, soothing and reassuring. His golden eyes searched my crimson pair. "You never know what she has at home – a husband, a family, children… Surely, you can understand that, Esme."

Another snarl. Yes, _I_ could, but my throat couldn't, the monster inside of me couldn't. I was being bitter but the monster I was didn't care. It was torture, like the burning agony of thousand flames licking my whole body – the transformation – heightened to the highest degree and concentrated in my throat. The scent of an animal didn't come close to that of the human. Simply thinking about the human's scent kept my mouth moist with venom. I didn't want to be a monster.

Carlisle looked at Edward. Serious expressions held both their faces.

Edward shook his head as he whispered something – too low for even me to hear – and Carlisle simply nodded. Then he loosened his grip on me as Carlisle's tightened but Edward continued to hover.

"I _am_ a monster, Carlisle," I admitted through choking sobs.

Hurt flashed across his face and disappointment swam in the pool of gold. "No, Esme," he said and I felt his grip loosen, "you aren't – at least, you don't have to be."

But the tearless sobs wouldn't stop.

—

It wasn't easy. Although Carlisle and Edward managed to take me far away from human as possible in order to hunt, the human's scent remained in my head the rest of the day and throughout the night. I tried not to concentrate on the scent for too long. I heard Edward and Carlisle arguing although I only heard Edward speak.

Carlisle had bought some extra things for me: paper and sketching pencils. Perhaps Edward had helped Carlisle learn what I liked. Nonetheless, I had to get my mind off the human. I opened the window and looked out. Trees surrounded the entire house. The sun seeped through, throwing its rays against my skin.

I loved the sun as a human. As a little girl, I would come home from school and spend hours in fields of flowers, basking in the sun day after day as it turned my skin dark, but now, as a vampire, I could never do that. Carlisle had been so kind to me, so gentle, and loving. I believed him when he said he knew what he had to do but I jumped because I wanted to leave this world … Yet I had awaken to live again. Not just to live, but live eternally without Nathan. I sighed, pushing myself away from the window sill. It began to rain so I shut the window.

I sighed. In quick vampire speed, I ran down the stairs and out the door, into the rain. Then I ran. I ran and ran until I was somehow physically tired of running. I sat down, leaning against a tree. With my knees close against my chest, I set my chin on top of my knees.

I listened intently to the rain hitting the trees and the ground. I felt nothing – no warmth, no cold. And then I was choking again, tearless sobs. Silent and empty. _Why?_ my mind continued to ask me. I shrugged to no one but myself. _I don't know._

Carlisle. My beautiful, saving angel. And Edward. I sensed so much in his gestures, his words, and his eyes. Could I leave them? Could I drop everything and leave like so many times before? It was different this time, I was no longer a human and what now, would I be running from? Not from an abusive husband, not from a father who threatened to find me. But rather from a man I had dreamed about for years, thinking I would never see him again. The relief I felt when I first saw him with the eyes of my new life held no comparison to when I first saw him with the eyes of a sixteen-year-old human girl.

I uncurled my body and stood. I took off sprinting, deciding to return home again. I heard Edward and Carlisle in the library yet neither of them came to me – I didn't want them to. I buried myself in the room upstairs and sketched.

For the rest of the night, I sketched. I sketched the house, Edward, and Carlisle. I pulled Nathan from my memory. He was still a vague memory but I could still remember. The more I thought about him, the easier he was to remember.

As night gave way to day, the sun was still hiding behind the rainclouds. I listened as Carlisle left the house. He didn't come to say good-bye. _He must be angry._ I shook my head, glancing around my room.

My sketches were scattered across the room. I sighed deeply. I listened as footsteps came closer and closer. I breathed in. It wasn't Carlisle's scent. The scent reminded me of honey, lilacs, and oddly enough, it reminded me of the warmth of the sun on my human face. I waited.

"Esme?"

I turned to Edward. I had never paid much attention to him until now. He was muscular but lanky. His eyes were amber, not yet golden like Carlisle's, but not crimson like mine. He wore a pair of beige trousers and a burgundy button-up shirt. His chiseled features reminded me of Carlisle as his skin matched both of ours.

"Edward."

"I couldn't help but listen to you…. Please know that Carlisle isn't angry with you."

I bit my lip.

"We know how hard it is for you, Esme. We wouldn't be trying to stay away from humans unless there was another way. Carlisle is a good man; he wouldn't do anything if he did not know it was possible."

I nodded. I had only evaded on Carlisle's kindness for a few days but Edward even longer. My mind quickly drifted to perhaps leaving again.

Edward furrowed his eyebrows. "He doesn't want you to leave either."

Oh, the mind reading again. I had forgotten.

"Perhaps you don't see you the way Carlisle does, but I do. He would be heart-broken, Esme."

Heart-broken like I had been when I lost Nathan?

"Yes, Esme, exactly so."

I sighed. "When will he be home?"

"Around noon."

I nodded.

"Esme, if you ever need to go hunting, please don't hesitate to ask. Carlisle asked for me to watch you while he was away… I… I don't want to disappoint him."

He spoke of Carlisle like a proud son would speak about a good father. This made me a small smile break across my face.

"In many ways, Carlisle is a father to me. I respect him."

Hesitantly, I reached to stroke Edward's face. He didn't pull away. _So young_, I thought. "I see that you are good to Carlisle and now to me. He couldn't ask for anyone better, Edward."

To this, Edward grinned. "I'll be downstairs."

I nodded and watched him leave. I picked up the sketches around the room and placed them on the bed. I scurried downstairs to see Edward on the couch, a book in hand. He didn't look up. I drifted into Carlisle's office, ignoring the sudden pain in my throat. The burning would forever be there.

As I stepped into his office, the warmth of Carlisle's scent hit me. I smiled. The desk was piled with books, some open, some closed, and some overlapping one another. I imagined Carlisle at the desk, reading book after book as his long, pale, beautiful fingers turning page after page, taking in as much information as he could about everything. I ran my hands over book spines, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain.

I sat in the large chair, facing it towards the window. I opened the tan curtains and watched as the rain hit the window. And I waited for Carlisle.


End file.
